The Editor's Mess

Yeah, I think I wanna be a king.I just found out the other day that Queen Elizabeth has a husband!  I never knew that. The other weird thing was that he's not the King. I thought that was pretty much mandatory: if you marry a Queen, you get to be a King, or at least a full partner in a drag club. 

That was a "Birdcage" joke.

I want to be a King.  Not a King like that creepy Burger King guy, but a real King.  It seems like a pretty good job.  First off, I'd be a billionaire and that's cool. Plus my face would be on the money, which would make it easy for everyone to recognize me.  On the downside, I couldn't slouch in public or be rude, and I'd have to smile politely to everyone I meet in a way that makes it obvious I don't like them.  That would suck.  Still, being King is mostly about showing up places and waving, and I can do that for a billion bucks.  Having to put on pants to get the mail is a small tradeoff.

Still, being King in the 21st Century wouldn't be nearly as fun as it used to be.  For instance, I couldn't just have someone beheaded anymore and that would suck.  I mean, I'd totally take the job if I could be rude to people and behead my enemies.  Otherwise, why bother with it in the first place?

It's that time of year again where we gather family close, rip open a fresh carton of egg nog and huddle around the cool LED glow of our boob-tubes to watch some classic holiday entertainment.  It's the one time of the year where you know, absolutely, that good, wholesome, worthwhile sentiments will rule over crass cynicism and self-interested greed, at least until the third act.

Or do you?  Do you even KNOW what's in that egg nog?  Could those very same holiday classics hide a deeper, darker, secret message that you never realized was there all the time?  Strap on your mulled-wine goggles, take a look at these holiday classics and then decide for yourself.

June 7, 2011. Meadow's Alma Mater, Ravenswood, Connecticut

Yalvard commencement address.  Womans picture, Flickr/jameskm03.Thank you, Chancellor Banks, and may I say you have an even lovelier posterior in the daylight. Dean McDonald, regents, faculty, dear students, and friends, including new friends from last night. I have the check right here for the damages Delta Phi Gamma, stop by my hotel room later as agreed.

Commencement. WikiPedia calls commencement "the ceremony at which students receive academic degrees." It's also the name of an album by the rock band "Deadsy," it turns out, which proves, once again why I love the Internet. Never before have so many been able to be sidetracked so easily. Still, Groupon made me a fortune so who's complaining.

[inset pos=left]Now you can Tweet your junk everywhere and it's perfectly legal.[/inset]Commencement. It's a time of transition, to be sure. Transition is also an operation of a finite-state machine, in case you were wondering. But in this case, we're talking about a transition from one reality to another. A reality in which you are surrounded by your peers, many of whom are holding and are chronic insomniacs; a reality in which powerfully fun drugs are a campus call away, as I confirmed myself only last night. Jesse, you have a future in logistics, and I'm a man of my word. I'm calling Fred Smith over at FedEx as soon as I leave here, I hope you can start Monday.

The rest of you, however, won't be nearly as lucky as Jesse. I remember graduating from Yalvard myself, too many years ago now, smack into one of the worst job markets in a decade. It was a tough, tough ride. But that was nothing compared to what you're about to face, thank god for that. You guys are pretty screwed.

Yet, there is hope. When I graduated, the prospect of tweeting your junk to coeds across the country was an unthinkable reality. The Internet and Twitter had yet to evolve. If you wanted to send lewd pix of yourself to anonymous coeds, you had very few options. Sure you could mail them, but that made it a federal crime. Now you can Tweet your junk everywhere and it's perfectly legal. Yes, you'll lose your job, but nothing associated with your junk is free, trust me on that.

Chances are, you haven't heard that the Supreme Court this year overturned an old ban on corporations spending money to influence elections. They did, you can Google it. It's out there. If you really, really want to, you can read it for yourself right from the horse's mouth, or opposite orifice depending on your stance I guess. It's 183 pages of creamy lawyerly goodness. It came out of that big building in D.C. with the pretty columns outside that's bursting with lawyers. No, that's the Congress, I meant the other one. Hell, it's on Mapquest.

Now the Supreme Court rules on lots of stuff nobody cares about. For instance, I'll bet you didn't care at all about their ruling in "Conkright v. Frommert" either. This had something to do with pension plans and how the accountants at Xerox figured them out. The court wisely decided that "people make mistakes," and that "most of the factual details [were] unnecessary" to their decision. They decided a bunch of other stuff too, but none of it was funny so I sort of spaced out and got another beer.

Yeah, you heard me, computers are worthless.This is the time of year when we're all looking for something new and exciting to pile on our nearly maxed credit cards. Many of you, I'm sure, are eyeing various high-tech devices, such as iPods, TiVos, or even personal computers, especially Windows PCs. You are suckers. Particularly you; I'm talking to you specifically. You are a sucker. Computers are worthless and will only ruin your life like they've ruined everyone else's.

I'm not saying this for my own selfish gain: I am not a "Mac" guy and, in fact, I work in the industry, so this is not helping me personally at all. Even more accurately, you're reading this now thanks to many advanced technologies, which are also crap. You think they're good, but they're worthless. You've been sold a bill of goods, chumply.

You may think I'm crazy, but hear me out. See I came to this realization last night standing in line at OfficeMax, which is probably the only time OfficeMax has ever been the cause of anything inspiring in its entire dreary history. Nobody actually wants to go to OfficeMax, you have to go there. Last night, I had to go because our printer ran out of toner, and luckily for me Canon makes the only printers on the planet that nobody can refill for you cheaply. So off I go to drop $80 on a new cartridge. Ho ho ho.

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